Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 89183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“Not that careful,” she said with a wink. “But I wouldn’t love you nearly as much if you weren’t such a pain in the rear.” She turned back to Josie. “But enough about me. I want to hear more about you. Where are you from in the States? And what prompted you to decide to create reading retreats?”
“I was born and raised in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho. Strange as it may seem, that was where Malcolm did his year abroad,” she reminded his grandmother.
“That’s right. So you two knew each other?”
Josie was first to reply, shaking her head. “No. We met once at the end of the year, but it was just a brief few minutes. We never really met properly until now.”
His grandmother looked at him, one eyebrow raised. Josie’s response had been too quick, and naturally Gran had noticed. “I see. So have you been to England before?” Gran asked.
“No, and I’m loving everything about it. This trip is like a dream come true.”
He could tell that his grandmother liked Josie’s energy, how she was positive and enthusiastic and utterly sincere.
“And what was it you did before starting reading retreats, or is that what you’ve always done?”
“I was a freelance editor. I still work for a couple of my favorite clients, which I squeeze in because I can’t bear to let them down. But I’ve almost completely transitioned over to setting up reading retreats now.”
“Well, I for one think it’s brilliant. In fact, once I heard about reading retreats, I wondered why they hadn’t existed before. I can tell you there have been many, many times in my life when I could have used one. I would have loved some time to get away from the difficulties of real life to sink into books and remember how to be happy. I’ve always said that, apart from travel, reading books is the best way to learn about the world and, perhaps, about ourselves.”
His grandmother had never said much to him, or any of them, about her past. The mystery writer was herself a mystery. A part of him suspected it had to do with his grandfather, who’d passed away a number of years ago, but it was nothing she had ever confirmed.
But as his grandmother and Josie looked at each other, he felt that they shared a connection that went deeper than simply loving books. There seemed to be heartache that bound them together.
He didn’t usually think along these lines. He wasn’t sure what was prompting it now, but being with Josie seemed to be shifting something inside him somehow, making him more aware of other people and their emotions.
As they moved on to the scones that Gran still baked herself, served with clotted cream and strawberry jam, the two women seemed to grow even closer. They talked about the classic mystery writers—Agatha Christie, whom everyone knew, but Josie also read Ngaio Marsh, Dorothy L. Sayers, and Margery Allingham. Malcolm had vaguely heard those names, but Josie and Gran had read all of their books and could discuss how Lord Peter Wimsey solved a crime compared to Inspector Alleyn. He should have been bored to tears and excusing himself to check email, but surprisingly, he enjoyed the debate. He left the two women talking to fetch the macaroons and ginger cake that Gran had made for dessert.
When they’d emptied the teapot, Josie excused herself to use the bathroom, and after directing her where to find it, Mathilda wasted no time in turning to Malcolm. “She’s delightful. You’d be a fool to let her go.”
“Gran, I agree she is delightful. But she’s not with me. So there’s no keeping her or letting her go.”
His grandmother rolled her eyes. “I’m not a fool. There’s obviously a connection between you two. She could be with you, if you would only use that pretty face of yours and the charm you too often keep hidden to woo her.”
He’d never spoken with anyone in his family about his aversion to finding love for himself. He thought it was great for his parents and his siblings. He hoped they all found love. He wanted them all to be happy and fulfilled. But for him, love had never seemed to be in the cards. As more than one lover had told him, he was married to his work.
“She’s not the kind of woman I would want to mess about.”
His grandmother nodded. “I agree. She deserves more than that. She deserves more than any of those other women that you flit around town with.” She narrowed her glance. “Don’t think I don’t see pictures of you in the papers with those whip-thin models who look beautiful on your arm but don’t challenge you, don’t fill your heart with joy. You can do better, Malcolm. You deserve someone wonderful. Like Josie.”